


Second Opinion

by imunbreakabledude



Series: Aiutami [2]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Humor, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 02, Villanelle being Villanelle, in her post-season-2 funk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21624337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imunbreakabledude/pseuds/imunbreakabledude
Summary: Nicola is obsessed with her from the moment he first spots her.He’s sitting outside a cafe, drinking his iced tea, when he sees her coming down the street. She’s dressed in a fabulous red jumpsuit which would catch Nicola’s eye on any day, but she’s also acting totally weird. She looks like she might be exactly the kind of troubled, lost girl that Nicola loves to befriend and figure out what makes them tick.(Or: Villanelle makes a gay best friend)
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Series: Aiutami [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558549
Comments: 14
Kudos: 116





	Second Opinion

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of the same story as my prospective-Season-3 fic, [Aiutami](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21050153/chapters/50072336). Since that story is from Eve's perspective, a lot of people asked what Villanelle had gotten herself into while she and Eve were apart, so I started to wonder as well. This fic is the answer.
> 
> You don't have to read Aiutami to enjoy this fic or vice versa, but if you plan to read both and care about spoilers, I suggest reading up through at least chapter 6 of Aiutami before reading this.

Nicola is obsessed with her from the moment he first spots her.

He’s sitting outside a cafe, drinking his iced tea, when he sees her coming down the street. She’s dressed in a fabulous red jumpsuit which would catch Nicola’s eye on any day, but she’s also acting totally weird. She looks like she might be exactly the kind of troubled, lost girl that Nicola loves to befriend and figure out what makes them tick.

She slowly makes her way down the street, approaching people one by one and asking them something. Asking for directions? No, that can’t be it, because she keeps talking to more people… 

He watches, transfixed, hypnotized by the figure in red. _Come to me next. Please. Make your way to me,_ he thinks. And after speaking to a few others on the street, she does. He tries not to appear too eager as she walks up to him, looks down, and address him in flawless Italian (which surprises him because he had assumed that she was a tourist): “Excuse me. Did you hear a gunshot from the ruins a few minutes ago?”

“No,” Nicola replies, taking in her face. She’s got beautiful, if slightly mussed, blond hair, shimmering hazel eyes, and a smile as menacing as a crocodile.

“Are you sure?” she presses. “I think I heard a shot. Someone should go investigate.”

“I’m going to say something that may upset you, but it’s for your own good,” Nicola says carefully. “You have a bit of lipstick…” He points to a spot on his cheek, mirroring where there’s a red smudge on her face.

Her hand goes to her face, and she rubs off the red spot onto her finger, examining it, taking a sniff, then smiling. “That’s not lipstick, it’s blood.”

 _This girl is an absolute travesty, and I need to make her my new best friend,_ Nicola thinks.

“Are you from around here?” he asks.

“No, but I may be staying for a while.”

“Well, if you ever need help with anything… I’ll give you my number.”

She looks at him like she’s about to throw his iced tea in his face, so he adds, “Don’t worry! I’m not trying to fuck you. I don’t swing that way.”

He jots down his number on a napkin and holds it out to her. After a few seconds, she takes it, and says, “I suppose I could use a friend.”

“I’m Nicola. What’s your name?”

“Chiara.”

After she leaves, Nicola forgets about her… more or less. But when he gets a call from her the next day, he squeals excitedly to his cat, and assures her that he’d be delighted to help her find a job in Rome.

Nicola is very proud to introduce Chiara to his manager, despite having no idea of her experience or if she’s even a relatively normal human being. At the very least, if she gets hired at the department store, Nicola will get a chance to know her better and find out what exactly her deal is, which will be a nice break from the monotony of working in the Menswear department.

“Why do you want to work here?” the manager, Berto, asks Chiara, not even looking up from his computer.

“For money. Why does anyone work anywhere?” Chiara sounds indignant at the question.

“Do you have previous experience?” Berto grunts.

“Two years in a _parfumerie_ in Paris.”

“Fine… Nicola, get her set up on the perfume counter. I have more important things to worry about,” Berto grumbles, then motions for the two of them to leave his office.

Nicola dutifully shows Chiara around the store. She is fascinated when he shows her the station in the break room for clocking in and out. “Did you not have a system like this in Paris?” he pries.

“Do you like working here?” she asks, and it’s only later that Nicola realizes she dodged the very innocuous question. 

“I only feel like killing myself every other day, so I guess you could say, yes, I like working here.”

Chiara smiles slightly, and Nicola is proud that he’s cracked her cool facade. He continues, “As far as soul crushing retail jobs go, this one is not so bad. I’d rather be someplace classy like this than at the grocery store.”

“It’s not as exciting as my last job, but it’ll do,” she says.

“A lot of drama in your _parfumerie_ , huh?” Nicola chuckles. “It will be nice to have someone else interesting around here for a change. I’m sick of being the only one.”

“When do we get paid?” 

“Every other Friday.”

“Could I get it sooner?”

“You could ask Berto, but… He doesn’t usually go out of his way to help employees.”

Chiara looks conflicted, so Nicola decides to be a nice guy and see if he can help. “Are you alright? Are you having money issues?”

“I’m rich,” she snaps, then scowls. “I’m supposed to be rich. My old bosses cut me off and stole all the money they paid me.”

“Really?” Nicola’s jaw drops. “Girl, you need to take them to court. If that’s true, a half-decent lawyer could get you all your money back plus more for your troubles.”

“They’re not the type you can get into a courthouse,” she says, with no trace of irony. _Who the hell is this girl?_ Nicola finds himself thinking for about the thousandth time that day.

“Let’s get you set up, but after work, we are _so_ going out,” Nicola commands. 

Chiara considers that. “Would you watch a movie with me?”

“Of course.” Nicola would’ve said yes to just about any activity she’d suggested, but he’s a little disappointed she picked something so ordinary. “Don’t worry, it’s on me.”

As they exit the theater, Chiara slurps down the last of her soda with a sucking sound. “What did you think?” Nicola asks her.

“Pretty good,” she replies. “But the fights got a little repetitive. And that scene where he strangled the bad guy was totally unrealistic. It takes longer.”

“Let’s grab a drink,” Nicola says, swiping the empty soda cup from Chiara’s hand and tossing it in the garbage can for her, a truly chivalrous effort. “I’ve got to know more about you.”

“Only if you’re paying.”

“Shut up. I love you. I love your whole thing.”

By the time they’re seated in a bar and she’s ordered, of all things, a full bottle of the most expensive champagne the bar has (which, Nicola thanks his lucky stars, is not very expensive since they’re in a dive bar).

“Chiara. I need to know your whole damn story from A to Z. Let’s start with: where are you from?”

“Milano.”

“No, I mean, where did you grow up?”

“Milano,” she repeats, popping her champagne open.

“No, you’re not,” Nicola laughs, instinctively.

“Yes, I am,” she insists, pouring herself a full glass which she drains in one gulp.

“If you’re _Milanese_ , I’m Carla Bruni,” Nicola chuckles. “Your Italian is good, I’ll give you that, but it’s _too_ good. You never use any slang. You clearly learned it in a classroom as an adult.” Nicola pauses for a beat to check her reaction to his amazing observational skills, which is only a slight jump of her left eyebrow. He grabs the champagne bottle and pours himself as glass, not breaking eye contact with her. “Tell me where you’re really from, and then tell me the sad story of why you lie about it.”

She just stares back at him, not saying a word, but Nicola has gotten into enough petty arguments in his life to know that the moment he backs down, he loses, so he refuses to avert his gaze or even blink. The silence grows uncomfortable, but he’s living in it. Just as his eyeballs are beginning to burn and he thinks he may have to break his gaze away, she relents and smiles.

“I’m from Milano,” she says, her voice dripping with sweetness. “And if you ask me again, I will kill you.”

She snatches back the champagne bottle and pours herself another glass, filling it right to the brim, and a bit splashes out onto the table as she lifts it to drink.

Nicola bursts out laughing. “You actually had me for a second! Don’t take this the wrong way, but you kinda have psycho killer eyes. I love your whole puppy dog slash murderous vibe, though. I’m obsessed. You are the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

“You are the most annoying person I’ve ever met,” Chiara replies. Then burps. Nicola laughs harder than before, tears coming to his eyes..

“It’s the bubbles,” Chiara protests, pouting. “Stop laughing!”

“Sorry,” Nicola gasps, trying his hardest to stifle his laughter. “I’m sorry. I swear. You can keep being all weird and mysterious for a while, but I’ll figure you out eventually.”

“Smarter people than you have tried and failed,” Chiara quips.

 _Wow, this bitch is damaged_ , Nicola thinks. _And I can’t wait to find out why._

Nicola can’t get enough of her. She’s more entertaining that anything on TV, let alone any other people he knows. Everything from her style to her apparently checkered past to her daily habits has him hooked. He drinks in every detail, trying to figure out what makes this weird foreign girl tick.

(She’s definitely foreign; that’s one thing he’s sure of. His best guess of where she’s from based on the imperfections in her Italian accent is somewhere in Eastern Europe, but it’s hard to say for sure.)

Over the next few days, he finds every opportunity to spend time with her that he can. Movies tend to be a good way. She’ll happily consent to watch a movie with him, so long as he buys the tickets and the snacks, and she’ll make some inscrutable comments about the plot that offer tantalizingly confounding clues about who she is. Like the strangulation comment, for instance? Her delivery had been so deadpan that it almost sounded like her knowledge came from firsthand experience. She had some messed up stuff in her past, that was for sure, and Nicola hungered to know her tragic backstory. He could _smell_ the drama radiating from her; it was what had first drawn him to her, and he wouldn’t rest until he got her full juicy story.

Within a few days of them meeting during breaks and after work, it became an unspoken routine that they spend most of their free time together, with Nicola spending perhaps too much of his paycheck on their outings and Chiara offering an occasional non-sequitur that kept him on the edge of his seat.

One day, at lunch, Chiara meets Nicola in the break room and without a word, grabs him by the hand and drags him to a museum down the street.

“I didn’t know you were into art,” he begins the conversation once they’re inside the Galleria Borghese, among the paintings.

“I’m not,” she replies in her typical dry style.

“Me neither,” Nicola sighs. “It’s so–” Chiara catches his eye, and finishes the sentence with him, “-–boring.”

Nicola smiles. “Girl, you get me like no one else does.”

They walk idly among the paintings, wasting their whole lunch break, but Nicola doesn’t dare complain – he’ll sneak a protein bar later. The time to drink in Chiara’s essence is worth so much more than eating his leftover reheated lunch in the break room.

Nicola has learned through his interactions with Chiara that the best way to get information out of her is not to ask directly, but wait for her to act and observe. Eventually, she stops by one (rather ugly) painting and pulls out her phone to snap a picture.

“What’s so special about that one?”

“It reminds me of someone.”

Nicola looks up at the painting again. The placard underneath informs him that it is a portrait of Saint Dominic. “You’re friends with a lot of saints?”

“It looks like… my uncle. He was always dragging me to museums.” She looks down at her phone and types up a text. “Maybe he will answer this one…”

“You text with your uncle a lot?”

“We used to see each other every day. Then he abandoned me to spend more time with his family.” She says the word _family_ with obvious distaste.

“Isn’t his family your family too?”

Chiara responds by putting her phone back in her bag and walking to the door. When she notices he hasn’t followed, she turns and asks, “Aren’t you coming back to work?”

Nicola should’ve known that was too many questions in a row, but he files the new information away greedily. _Important uncle. Family rift._ There was definitely some dysfunction there. 

Nicola has only known Chiara for a week, but she’s quickly become the sole focus of his energies. He blows off plans with his friends to spend more time with her. _I’m sorry,_ he texts them, _But I’m investigating the craziest bitch the world has ever seen. I am getting all the tea and I promise I’ll share it with you soon._

One morning, after one of the rare nights Nicola had not spent with Chiara, she walks into the break room and puts her things down, and Nicola asks, “Did you catch _Gli Amanti Vendicativi_ last night? What did you think?”

“I missed some of the middle.”

“What happened?”

“My ex came back from the dead,” Chiara says, hanging up her jacket. Nicola almost spits out a mouthful of coffee.

“What?!”

“It’s a long story.”

“You can’t just drop a bomb on me like that and not elaborate.”

“You wouldn’t believe it anyway.”

Nicola is not about to let this tantalizing whiff of drama evaporate. “I promise whatever your relationship drama is, I have seen worse. Need I remind you that I am a man who dates men? Do you know how many stupid decisions two men can make between them?” Nicola pulls out a chair from the tiny table in the room. “Sit, and tell me all about him.”

Chiara sits across from him, and considers for a moment, “You know, maybe I could use a second opinion. It’s a complicated situation.”

“Spill it.”

“Well… the last time I saw her was after I shot her.”

“Hold the phone, shut the front door, you have got to be pulling my leg, Miss Chiara!”

“I knew you’d be scared.”

“No!” Nicola screeches. “I’m just surprised! I did not have you pegged as a lesbian!"

Chiara rolls her eyes. “You gay men are always the most closed minded.”

“You caught me,” Nicola admits. “But now I’m hooked. I need this whole story to sustain me. Without it I’ll surely perish.”

“It’s almost nine,” Chiara says, nodding to the clock.

“Fine. Tell me at lunch.”

“I can’t,” she says, standing up. “I have a date with my dead ex.”

Nicola’s head buzzes with theories about the mysterious undead lover all morning. He definitely sells some customers suits in the wrong sizes as he mentally recounts each interaction he’s ever had with Chiara and tries to figure out how he missed that she’s totally gay. He eats his lunch alone, which feels odd, since he’d gotten so accustomed to dishing with Chiara over lunch, but when the break ends, he lingers around the break room, waiting for her to return, not caring if he gets reprimanded for returning to work late.

When she returns, she looks more preoccupied than Nicola has ever seen her. He opens his mouth to ask how it went, but she grabs him by the hand and drags him through the store without a word.

“Where are we going?” Nicola asks, a bit nervous. “I need to hear all about your lunch, but… I also want to not get fired, so maybe you can drop me off at Menswear and we can meet up after work.”

She ignores his questions, in her typical fashion, but marches him all the way up to the manager’s office. Berto grunts with surprise as she blows the door open without knocking.

“Nicola and I are taking the rest of the day off,” she says matter-of-factly.

“What?” Berto snaps. “I can’t spare anyone right now. Not even if you had asked politely. Get out before I dock your pay.”

In an instant, Chiara has flitted across the room, pinned Berto against his chair with one arm, and has grabbed his balls with the other hand. By the squeal of pain Berto makes, Nicola can tell she is not treating them very nicely. 

“Nicola and I are taking the rest of the day off,” she repeats, in exactly the same tone as before. A chill runs down Nicola’s spine, and he’s not sure if he wishes more strongly that he could flee, or that he had popcorn.

“Yes! Take the whole day! Just please, stop!” Berto squeals, and Chiara releases her grip, but keeps him pinned to the chair. She opens his desk drawers one by one until she finds a bottle of scotch. 

“Thanks for understanding,” she says brightly as she takes the bottle of scotch in one hand and Nicola’s hand in the other, leading him towards the door. “Oh, I almost forgot,” she adds, turning over her shoulder. “I won’t be in tomorrow. Maybe the day after as well.”

Berto nods weakly as they flit out the door.

“That was insane!” Nicola cheers, as he follows Chiara on her march through the store. “Who are you?”

“Huge question,” Chiara mutters, as if on autopilot. She pauses momentarily in Cosmetics to swipe a bottle of nail polish from a display, then continues to drag him through Outerwear and up the stairs, all the way to the roof. 

“Now we have some privacy,” she sighs and opens the bottle of scotch, takes one swig, and then offers it to Nicola. He waves it away, since he prefers his drinks to be the fruity kind where you can hardly taste the alcohol, but she holds it out again, so he acquiesces and takes a swig, though it burns his throat.

Chiara spreads out on the ground, and begins talking up to the cloudless sky. “You say you give good advice. Well, here is your chance to prove it. I have a tough situation.” She takes off her shoes and wiggles her toes in front of Nicola. 

He dutifully picks up the nail polish and gets to work. “I got you, girl. Start from the beginning. Spare no detail.”

The next two hours are perhaps the best two hours of Nicola’s sad, boring life. Of course, he has no way to verify if half of the story Chiara tells him is true, but he doesn’t care, it’s the greatest drama he’s ever heard. From the very beginning when she became infatuated with a beautiful woman in a hospital bathroom, through all the ups and downs until she shot her lover to stop her from leaving. No Hollywood movie could hold a candle to this, so even if it is made up, all he has to say is: _Brava_. 

Finally, she catches him up to the present, explaining what happened at her lunch with Eve. “I agreed to help her,” Chiara says. “But I told her I won’t kill Carolyn myself. I don’t work for free. But I said I’d go with her and help.”

“Congratulations,” Nicola sighs, “That is _the_ messiest relationship I have ever heard of. And I’m friends with a lot of terrible people.”

“So?” Chiara sits up suddenly. “Give me advice. Because nothing I try with Eve ever works.” Before Nicola can respond, she adds, “And don’t say kill her husband… Been there, done that.”

“You killed her husband? You left that part out.”

“Not her, another ex.”

“Why are you always going after married women? Do you have mommy issues or something?”

“I asked for relationship advice, not therapy.”

Nicola takes another sip of scotch (it got easier to stomach it the more of it he drank) and thinks for a minute, considering the situation as Chiara had narrated it. He decides to take the events more or less at face value, even though the murder parts must have been just her dramatic flair. 

“I think I figured out the problem,” he says sagely. His eyes flicker over to Chiara’s face to confirm that she is listening intently to what he has to say before he continues. “You tried to test Eve, to get her to prove how much she loves you, right? But you did it all wrong.”

Chiara sighs. “Because killing people is wrong and bad, right?”

“No,” Nicola says. “I mean, maybe it is, but whatever, that’s not the point. You did the test wrong, because you didn’t actually give her any choice. You made Eve think you were about to die to force her to kill that guy, your boss–”

“Raymond,” Chiara offers.

“You made it so killing Raymond was her only option,” Nicola declares. “That’s where you fucked up.”

“But she did it!”

“And then what did she do next? She saw through your stupid little test because she’s not a total nincompoop. And then she walked away.”

“Perhaps Eve is a lost cause after all,” Chiara mutters despondently. “It’s so rude of her to come crawling back and knock on my door. Right when I was starting to get over her, too!”

Nicola cocks his head. “I don’t think it’s a lost cause. You two clearly have something hot going on. Even from hearing you tell it I can feel the chemistry.”

“How can I be sure she won’t break my heart again?” Chiara asks, rapt. 

“You give her another test,” Nicola declares. “Only this time, do it right. Don’t manipulate her into giving the ‘right answer’. Give her a chance to prove if she cares about you or not, and – I know this is going to be the hardest part for you – stand back and see what she does.”

“But what if she makes the wrong choice?”

“Then she isn’t worth crying over, honey!” Nicola laughs. “This way, it might hurt, but you’ll get your answer for sure. And if she makes the right choice, you know that she did it because she really cares about you, not because you tricked her into it.”

Chiara sits up and pokes at her toenails, making sure the polish is dry before slipping her shoes back on. “Thank you, Nicola. That is excellent advice.”

“You’re welcome. I ask for no repayment other than keeping me filled in on how this plays out, because I’m too invested in this now.”

“No, I mean it, thank you,” Chiara says again, insistently. “Ever since Eve left, I hadn’t been feeling right. I was starting to worry that the rest of my life might be like this. But thanks to you, I feel like myself again.”

“Go off, sis!” Nicola cheers. “I’m so here for the real you. Now will you tell me where you’re really from?”

Chiara cracks her neck, picks up the scotch bottle, then abruptly smashes it against the floor, shattering it to pieces. “I’ve wanted to do this all week, but I’m so glad I waited.” She grabs a large shard of glass in her bare hands, and the last thing Nicola sees is that crocodile smile, grinning down at him as he bleeds out on the roof at work.

**Author's Note:**

> I was hesistant to write a Villanelle-centric chapter at first. A big part of the reason I wrote the main story from Eve's perspective is because I'm firmly of the belief that Villanelle is only interesting so long as we don't know what's going on in her head. So, this was my compromise: invent a new character to observe Villanelle while she was separated from Eve. 
> 
> This was a bit of an experiment for me, so let me know what you think!
> 
> Also, find me on [Tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/), because I have hardly any Killing Eve followers, and I need people to appreciate the insightful rants I put in the tags when I reblog gifs of this show.


End file.
